


In the Shadows of 221B

by CarmillaCarmine



Series: The Stories of Angst and Heartbreak [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Halloween, M/M, Smut, spooky smut is a thing now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26794966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarmillaCarmine/pseuds/CarmillaCarmine
Summary: On a stormy, Halloween night, Sherlock appears changed, but John isn't about to complain about anything Sherlock wants to do to him.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: The Stories of Angst and Heartbreak [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2004232
Comments: 205
Kudos: 300
Collections: Spooky Johnlock Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something spooky, but it came out as smut anyway. Sorry not sorry XD  
> The micro-chapters (sorry they're so short) will be posted daily (or every other day).  
> Happy Halloween!
> 
> Betad by the lovely ladies: MsScarlet and WritingOutLoud!

The evening of the Halloween party at The Lion’s Mane pub was a particularly cold one for late October. The sky was woven with shades of grey and midnight blue as the rain gushed over the streets of London. 

John had to huddle in the raised collar of his dark-green jacket before he reached the pub. Greg, Molly, and even Donovan were there among other familiar and some unfamiliar faces, most dressed up in various degrees of costume. Molly wore striped stockings and a simple, black, witchy hat when she approached John with a smile on her face. 

“Oh hello, John!” she chirped pleasantly. “Is Sherlock coming?” she asked, taking a sip of her colourful drink.

Shrugging the wet jacket off his shoulders, John shook his head. 

“He promised he would be back by now, but you know Sherlock.” 

Molly nodded in understanding, looking into her drink, her long lashes a stark contrast to her flawless, but pale face.

“I’ll be back for the idiotic Halloween party, don’t worry John,” John said imitating Sherlock’s low voice. His display made Molly grin, as was his goal. 

He understood her attraction to Sherlock more than anyone. That little flutter of excitement he got even at the very thought of his flatmate confirmed it. Except, unlike Molly, John held no hope that the ‘married to his work’ genius would ever notice either of them. 

“Oi John!” came a shout from somewhere behind Molly. “You made it!” 

John saw two raised hands, each holding a pint of lager, before Greg emerged from the small, colourful crowd. 

“Thanks, mate,” John said, accepting one of the beers. 

“I just talked to the guy who’s been eyeing you for the past half hour, and he actually seems like a decent bloke,” Greg addressed Molly, who blushed from her neck to the tips of her ears. “Lemme know if you’ll need-”

“I’ll be fine, Greg, thank you.” Molly patted Greg’s arm, smiling, her eyes filled with hope. “It’s nice to see you, John,” she said before turning around to mingle. She deserved to find happiness, and John was glad to see her trying to reach for it.

“Playing the wingman, huh?” John asked, downing half of his beer to wet his throat, which felt parched after the walk in the bad weather. 

“More of a concerned friend, really.” Greg shrugged. “I just hate the thought of her getting hurt.” He looked where Molly went for a moment longer, before his eyes landed on John. “Where’s Sherlock?”

John shrugged and saw Greg give him the same worried expression he’d given Molly moments before. Wow, everyone must know how gone John was for his oblivious flatmate. A ping of shame hit John’s stomach before he forced a smile to his lips. There was nothing he could do about it, as he’d given Sherlock all the signals he could think of, and still remained unseen as more than a friend. John lifted his glass to clink it with Greg’s. “So, did you see the game last night?”

As the night wore on, several more people asked about Sherlock; some of them disappointed, some glad that he hadn't come. John enjoyed a chat here and there, but kept looking towards the doorway in case a mop of curls appeared in it. 

Two beers later, John found himself sitting by the bar and decided that the party had lost its initial appeal. He had hoped to enjoy the evening talking to people, and maybe even get a bit drunk with his best friend who ended up never coming to the party at all, despite his promise. After waving his goodbyes, he ventured home, hands in his jacket pockets, head down to avoid the pouring rain getting into his eyes and face. It was all for nothing; he was getting more drenched by the second. Never having the magical ability to summon cabs the way Sherlock had, he refused to even try. 

The streets were crowded with people still on their way to parties, as the Halloween tradition had become more and more popular in the last few years. John passed by groups of friends, laughing, whispering, and smiling. Feeling alienated, he picked up his pace. 

A stray bolt of lightning split the sky only seconds before a boom of thunder reached John’s ears. A second later, he bumped his shoulder into someone he hadn’t seen approaching.

“Scuse me,” he said, lifting his head as he half-turned towards the passing figure, then stopped in his tracks. “Sherlock?” John blinked against the droplets of water on his lashes, seeing his flatmate standing two feet away; his long coat billowing in the wind, his curls darkened and flattened by the pouring rain. 

Lightning struck again, illuminating Sherlock’s elegant features. He was impossibly pale and so astonishingly beautiful that it took John a moment before he could speak again.

“Are you all right?” John asked, tilting his head. “Everyone was waiting for you at the party.”

Sherlock’s lip curved in a smirk of disbelief, as he stood otherwise unmoving, hands in the pockets of his coat.

“Okay,  _ I _ was waiting. And Molly was asking about you, too.” He chuckled, glad to see his friend. “Come on, let’s get you home before we both catch a cold.”

A small frown appeared on Sherlock’s forehead, barely visible in the moonlight mixed with the light of the street lamps distorted by the rain. Then he nodded once and took a step forward. 

John turned and started walking, seeing Sherlock fall into step with him out of the corner of his eye. They always did that; no matter who was leading, the other would follow. A soft smile of affection appeared on John’s face and he exhaled a breath of relief that Sherlock was back in one piece and safe.

John’s eyes widened when he felt Sherlock’s hand slip through the loop John’s arm provided. He stiffened for a moment in mild shock, before he decided to pay no heed to the gesture. They shared casual touches every day; a pat on the back, or a squeeze of the shoulder. 

Sherlock was not one for affection, but he was practical. Huddling close in the horrid weather gave them a bit more shared warmth, especially to John, who now felt as if he was standing next to a furnace. Without another word, they kept walking towards their flat, arm in arm, their gait synchronised, as if it was the way they always walked together.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock let go of John’s hand only after they reached 221B, making John feel as if he’d had something vital taken away from him, and he almost protested. How ridiculous was that? It had taken John half of the journey home to get used to the feel of Sherlock’s arm threaded through his, and the closeness of their bodies as they’d marched together and he already missed it. 

John fumbled in his pocket to retrieve the keys, and unlocked the door to the place he and Sherlock called home. A second later, Sherlock passed through the door in a whoosh of a coat and ventured up the stairs like a giant moth in the dark.

“Back so soon?” asked Mrs Hudson, emerging from her flat, wiping her hands on the apron she wore, leaving streaks of flour on the front. 

“Yes, Mrs H. Have a great night!” John exclaimed, then ran upstairs, following in Sherlock's footsteps. 

He was curious to find out how the mission Sherlock had received from Mycroft had gone. John knew very little about the mission; mostly that it was dangerous enough for Sherlock to be anxious before going. He’d been rude and mean to John, which suggested he’d been worried. On top of that, he hadn’t spoken a single word about it to John except that he was not, under any circumstances, to go with him. It made John concerned about his friend, making his relief at seeing him whole even greater

Dying for a good story to write on his blog, John was determined to get every juicy detail from the detective. 

The door to the sitting room was ajar, but there was no light streaming onto the landing. John looked around to see if Sherlock had gone to his bedroom, but the entirety of their flat was bathed in darkness. 

“Sherlock?” John blinked several times, seeing a flutter of movement in the sitting room.

A gasp born of surprise tore from John’s throat the moment he was dragged into the sitting room by the lapels of his jacket. The door closed and he was thumped against it, clasping his hands on the forearms of his friendly attacker.

“What’s gotten into you?” John whispered, in case Sherlock’s mission hadn’t ended and there was a point to all the bizarre behaviour he’d been displaying so far. 

John’s eyes acclimated to the semi-darkness thanks to the street lights streaming into the room. He looked up, seeing Sherlock’s expression flare with something he hadn’t expected to see.

“What happened on the mission, Sherlock? Do you want to talk about it?” John asked a bit spooked at Sherlock’s stillness, as he only shook his head slightly. “Dammit! I knew I should have gone with you. I’m going to kill your brother, I swe-” John’s voice faded away when Sherlock’s head tilted slightly to the side as he looked from John’s face to his chest and down along his body. 

John felt the intense gaze scorch him as if it was physical touch. Sherlock had looked at him before like that, but never up close and never so openly. John had always attributed it to Sherlock appreciating him platonically, while secretly hoping that it was something more. 

Sherlock’s long fingers opened the zipper of John’s jacket, then paused at the top button of John’s shirt.

“What are you doing Sherlock?” John asked, his heart beating fast, as heat travelled to his cheeks.  _ Was this really happening? _

Sherlock moved to take his hands away, but John covered them with his own, looking up to meet Sherlock’s gaze.

“No, don’t stop. I’ll tell you to stop when it’s too far or too much, ok? Will you let me know too?” John pleaded, not wanting to break the spell of the moment. 

Sherlock nodded then his shoulders sagged in relief almost imperceptibly. He was in a non-speaking mode and John was fine with that. It happened when Sherlock was focused on a case or when he was sulking. This time, something must have happened to him on the secret mission to drive him into this state, and John knew better than to push for answers. It could only push Sherlock further away, and now he clearly needed someone close.

Sherlock opened John’s shirt button by button, so slowly John wanted to just rip it apart in impatience. Instead, he stayed still, letting Sherlock take his time with whatever he was planning to do. He’d dreamed of a moment like this since he’d met Sherlock, so he was determined not to fuck it up now when his flatmate was initiating physical contact for the first time.

John had followed Sherlock into many dangerous situations, and somehow, this uncharted territory seemed to fill him with the most excitement and yet the largest amount of dread of them all. Risking his life when on a case with Sherlock seemed less terrifying than risking their friendship if they ventured further into carnal adventures than they were ready to. Then again, John felt, deep inside, that he’d been ready for anything Sherlock was willing to give him.

John sucked in air when Sherlock’s fingers touched the bare skin of his chest, then stilled.

“Cold,” he gasped, his voice hoarse with arousal. “Your fingers. But… I don’t mind,” John explained, hardly believing what was happening. He didn’t know what to expect, either from Sherlock or from himself, but he was melting beneath the touch already. 

Sherlock’s hands splayed on John’s pectorals, moving to the sides until they slid the shirt and jacket off John's shoulders. They fell to the floor with the wet splat of rain-soaked garments. The still-cold fingertips travelled to the scar on John’s left shoulder, touching reverently, as if Sherlock was committing every sensation to memory. It was an ugly, star-shaped scar of a bullet wound and John had always felt very self-conscious about it. He lowered his gaze, feeling exposed, but at the same time wanting Sherlock to know him like that - vulnerable.

Sherlock leaned to brush his lips over the scar in the softest of kisses. John’s breath left him in a shudder and he let his head fall back against the door with a thud. Sherlock kissed the spot once more before he moved to John’s neck making John close his eyes in bliss as a shiver ran through his body.

“Not here,” John breathed, taking Sherlock’s hand to lead him to his room. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is the recipient of Sherlock's attention in a way he'd never even dared dreaming of.

They climbed upstairs; shirtless John leading Sherlock towards his bedroom. The old wood floors creaked under their weight as John walked from memory, in the near-complete darkness of the stairway. Keeping one hand on the railing, the other hand never let go of Sherlock’s, as if afraid that if he did, Sherlock would simply float away, disappear as suddenly as he’d appeared before on the street.

John paused, his hand on the doorknob to his room, recalling nights in his bed fantasising about the brilliance and gorgeousness of Sherlock; nights that ended with him touching himself, vaguely ashamed and feeling as if he was taking something from the man he didn’t have the right to take.

It seemed now that John had been wrong, and the thought filled him with the courage to continue. 

Coming back to the present, John felt Sherlock’s presence behind him before he felt Sherlock's lips on his nape. The soft, wet, and hot sensation followed by Sherlock’s breath, made John shiver.

“God, Sherlock, I’ve wondered for so long... I’ve waited so long-oh!” John gasped as Sherlock stepped close enough for John to feel a fair-sized bulge in Sherlock’s trousers.

Encouraged, John pushed the door open and they stumbled inside. Hands grabbing, feet shuffling, they ended up falling on the bed. It squeaked in protest under their weight. A small laugh escaped John at the sound and Sherlock joined him with a low chuckle, before they both grew more serious again, as if realising how enormous of a step they'd just taken.

Sherlock’s body felt good on top of John, with its weight, angles, long limbs and Sherlock’s wet curls brushing John’s cheek. Only the amount of clothes Sherlock was wearing felt disproportionate, compared to John’s bare chest. 

“May I?” John asked, shifting slightly, motioning to slide Sherlock’s coat off. 

“Mmmm,” Sherlock murmured agreement into John’s neck before his weight disappeared from John. In a rustle of clothes, Sherlock shed his coat, suit jacket and shirt. He stood for a pregnant moment, as if letting John admire the lean lines of his chest in the moonlight streaming through the window. Or maybe he was hesitating…

John scooted further on the bed, and propped himself on his elbows, his feet barely touching the floor, waiting. 

Just when John thought Sherlock had changed his mind, he stepped forward and took a deep breath, making his chest expand. The staccato rhythm of John’s heart echoed the anticipation of Sherlock’s next move that coursed through John’s entire body.

At first, only Sherlock’s fingertips touched John’s knee as he leaned forward, before he flattened his palm to slowly slide it up. The rasp of his hand sliding on John’s jeans seemed like a prelude to a symphony of their own making.

Throat dry, John swallowed and shifted just slightly, feeling the strain of his arousal at the front of his trousers. The fluid, predatory movement of Sherlock’s half-naked form over John made him release a tiny sound of wanton desire. He let his legs fall open, accommodating Sherlock’s knee, which slid all the way to brush John’s balls, tightly confined by his jeans. Air left him in a slow exhale ending in a low growl. He stifled it quickly, trying to regain a bit of composure. He’d been dreaming of a moment like this with his flatmate for so long that he was succumbing to his every whisper of a touch far too easily.

“Good thing we’re in my bedroom, so we can save Mrs Hudson a sleepless night. We’re too far up for her to hear us,” John said, chuckling, breaking the heady silence filled only by his breathing that was getting heavier by the second. “Whatever we do…” he added quickly, not wanting to rush too far ahead. He needn’t have worried, as Sherlock’s next move confirmed that his plans lay in sync with John’s desires. 

“Oh God….” John choked out when Sherlock cupped his balls through the fabric in a firm grip. Holding John in place, Sherlock unbuckled John’s belt with the other hand. The button and zipper came next and John was letting him, wanting to feel Sherlock’s hands, cold or otherwise, all over his body. 

John felt Sherlock’s touch on his hips first, slow and sure, as he slid the trousers down along with John’s boxer-briefs, releasing John’s already hard cock to bounce on his abdomen. John groaned giving his cock a single stroke, but Sherlock promptly batted his hand away. John complied willingly, placing his hands back on the bed, relishing being the recipient of Sherlock’s attention. He wiggled his legs to help Sherlock get his trousers and boots off faster.

Sherlock straddled John, his hands going up John’s torso to his face, as their chests aligned. Sherlock’s cold flesh collided with John’s heated body, the contact making John realise that neither of them was planning to stop. 

“I’m afraid…” John smacked his lips, unable to form words to convey what he meant. “I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret later.” Even if it meant they would have to stop now and John would end up kicking his own arse with regret. 

“Shhh,” Sherlock shushed, kissing a trail along John’s neck, as he ground his clothed backside over John’s cock. Apparently, Sherlock had already decided what he wanted and John was more than fine with it. He’d been Sherlock’s doctor since they’d met, so he was sure they were safe to continue however far this endeavour would take them.

“Ahhh,” a moaned gasp left John. The friction of the fabric over his sensitive flesh felt good, and he rolled his hips searching for more before Sherlock slid lower, his hands reading John’s body like an open book. 

Sherlock took one of John’s nipples into his mouth and sucked, twisting the other with his fingers. John yelped as sparks of pleasure shot through his chest and he gripped the sheets in tight fists to ground himself. Sherlock continued his exploration, his tongue lazily tracing John’s collarbones, neck, then nipples again. John could hear soft, quiet moans coming from Sherlock but he was unable to see his face, to see how he looked like while bringing John so much pleasure. 

“Let me turn the light on,” John said, reaching for the bedside lamp, but Sherlock took his hand and placed it on his chest instead. “Oh okay,” John agreed, even if the need to assure Sherlock that he had nothing to be afraid or ashamed of arose. He decided to just let Sherlock call the shots, stay in control as he liked to be when they were on a case. Meanwhile, John could enjoy how much or little he was given. 

The night outside grew even darker and the rain intensified, hiding the moon yet again. John had to strain to see what Sherlock was doing until he gave up and let himself enjoy the tactile sensations on his thighs and balls where Sherlock’s hand roamed with the most precise, yet the softest of touches. John sunk his teeth into his bottom lip as if to make sure he was not dreaming when Sherlock took just the glans of John’s cock in his palm and spread the precome there around it.

The shadow figure that was Sherlock moved to the side, fumbling. A bang made John flinch, startled by the sound of the drawer next to his bed being slammed closed.  A click of a cap sounded and John realised it must have been the lube Sherlock had reached for.

“How did you know where-? Never mind. Probably a very easy deduction.” John smiled in the dark at the very idea that Sherlock knew where John kept his lube. Had he also deduced who John had been thinking when using the lube on himself, when stroking himself? 

All thoughts evaporated from John’s head and he sucked air in sharply through his teeth when Sherlock’s slick hand fondled his balls. His fingers moved under, putting pressure on John’s perineum with skill and ease John wouldn’t have expected from the man who John had presumed was uninterested in sexual encounters. John gripped the sheets above his head this time and arched as pleasure rippled through him.

“Fuck...Sherlock...yesss…” John moaned, tossing his head side to side while his body yielded to Sherlock’s touch completely. 

Sherlock’s fingers pressed keenly, still massaging, and John could feel the rousing heat spread  from the point of contact and through his lower back and abdomen. Sweat beaded on his chest and he stretched on the bed, eyes closing, muscles tightening as he was nearing an orgasm. The silence was broken only by John’s ragged breathing, and low, lewd grunts.

Suddenly, Sherlock’s touch was gone from John’s groin, leaving his skin tingling with the need for more. 

“No,” John groaned, protesting. “Why did you stop? I was almost there.”

Sherlock’s hands massaged John’s upper thighs in lieu of a reply, kneading the tight muscles there, his lean strong hands seemingly made for it. Despite the pleasant touch, John backed away from the edge of climax, staying aroused enough to eagerly continue, but not enough to risk exploding any second. The dark figure above John disappeared from his field of vision.

“Oh, you’re just playing with me. What will- OH!” John gasped as the heat of Sherlock’s mouth enveloped the head of his cock. “Ohmygod ohmy oh…” John staggered out in a voice much higher in octave than usual when Sherlock licked along his shaft then took more of John’s cock into his mouth. John’s hands grappled for purchase as his head reeled.

It all felt absolutely surreal.

The darkness and John’s inability to see what was happening added to the magical sensations. He desperately wanted to see his cock disappear into Sherlock’s luscious mouth, licked by the smart tongue. He wondered what Sherlock’s face looked like during the act. Shoving that wish to the side, he used the fact that he could experience the intensity of touch even more strongly in the dark, and placed a hand on Sherlock’s head to touch his glorious curls. Still wet with rain, the hair was surprisingly soft, even more than John had always imagined. 

Sherlock’s head bobbed on John’s cock, while his hand pumped on the bottom half of it, making John release noises he hadn’t known he was capable of making. Just when John was tensing again, Sherlock stopped.

“Fucking hell, I’m dying here! You’re killing me, Sherlock! That was so good, my head is spinning already.” John was so far gone, he was a grenade, waiting to explode and Sherlock was just toying with the safety pin ring, flicking it.

A low chuckle, filled with an erotic undertone, reached John’s ears and he let the sound wash over him. It was a beautiful laugh of seduction that was silenced when John felt a kiss on his abdomen, then higher as Sherlock was climbing to straddle him again.

John reached between them to stroke his aching cock, but Sherlock grabbed his hand and pinned it above his head along with the other one. Long fingers held both of John’s wrists in a surprisingly strong grip, causing a fresh wave of excitement to flood into John. He could break the hold easily, but he chose to give into it, lifting his hips to brush his cock over Sherlock’s groin still covered with trousers. 

Sherlock’s other hand, still slick, reached down to stroke John’s cock once, twice, then moved to his perineum again. 

“Yes, Sherlock, yes…” John pleaded, his body writhing under his best friend’s, his nipples hard, brushing over Sherlock’s chest, so close to his own.

John had experimented on himself a bit before, but he’d never been with a man. Now, however, he was sure that he wanted Sherlock inside him. He had clear signals by now that Sherlock wanted to go further, yet he was still wearing trousers. 

Musings discarded, John felt Sherlock’s finger circling around his entrance. The movements were slow, deliberate and increasing in intensity, driving John mad with a new sensation. It felt different when Sherlock touched him than when he’d touched himself and John writhed, wordlessly begging for more.

In the near-complete darkness, he strained to capture Sherlock’s lips with his, to feel the softness of them on his own. Sherlock, however, had other plans. He kissed John’s jaw then his collarbone, before burying his face in John’s neck, while his finger pressed for entry into John’s body. 

“Nnnggghhh,” came an affirmative sound from deep within John’s chest when Sherlock teased him slowly. He stopped only for a moment, to relocate himself to the floor, between John’s shamelessly parted legs. 

Sherlock’s lips were around John’s cock again, sucking in languid motions, before he picked up the pace, continuing the massage under John’s balls. The sheets around John were now crumpled from his thrashing.  There were so many sensations all at once, John felt that he was about to short-circuit. 

He writhed, groaning loudly, and Sherlock reached to hold him in place, using his free hand to grip John’s hip. Just the tip, just a pad of Sherlock’s finger slid in, moving in tiny circles, and that was what finally pushed John over the edge.

“Fuck, I can’t take it anymore!” John panted. “I’m coming, Sherlock, ohgod ohgod!”

John squeezed his eyes shut, his breathing ragged as his body shuddered under Sherlock’s touch. He tried to pull Sherlock away in time, but Sherlock sucked slowly, swallowing John’s orgasm. John twitched, then hissed, as his now-sensitive cock was getting the cleanup of its lifetime from the one and only consulting detective.

“Oh God, Sherlock, that was amazing. My- My ears are ringing.” He chuckled. 

Wrung out, and feeling the most satisfied he’d even been, he still wanted more. He wanted to put his hands on Sherlock, to reciprocate, even if he didn’t have the experience to replicate what had just happened to him. “I want to touch you, god, I want it so much,” he whispered, still panting when Sherlock kissed the inside of his thigh. “Will you let me?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut in the dark part 2

“I want to touch you, god, I want it so much,” John whispered, still panting when Sherlock kissed the inside of his thigh. “Will you let me?”

Sherlock was still on his knees between John’s legs, his lips trailing small kisses on John’s sensitive skin before he rested his cheek on John’s thigh. John was  more clear-headed after having had the most intense orgasm of his lifetime, and still Sherlock’s quiet, yet intense, demeanour left John both slightly worried and extremely excited. 

“Can I touch you?” he asked, feeling the answering nod thanks to his hand buried in Sherlock’s luscious locks. He couldn't see them in the darkness of the room, but if Sherlock’s wish was to explore each other under the cover of darkness, John was far from complaining. “Then lay down and I can - God I want to touch you so badly. I want you to feel good, and I’ll try to - let me try…” John’s hands roamed over Sherlock’s shoulders as he rose above John again. To say that Sherlock was usually a lot more skittish with physical contact than tonight was an understatement, so John needed to make sure they were still on the same page. 

“I understand that for some reason you’re not talking today, and that’s okay. If you don’t like anything I’m doing, just - uh just tap out twice anywhere on my body so I can feel it. It’s pretty damn dark in here. Which is fine.” He was rambling, but Sherlock didn’t seem to mind as he nuzzled John’s neck, his nose still as cold as the night outside.

John started to get up to change positions, but Sherlock pushed him back down with a firm palm on his chest. He then helped John manoeuvre further on the bed to lean against the headboard. John followed the prompts, not really caring how Sherlock wanted to proceed, since clearly, they were not stopping yet. The bizarre behaviour was not unlike Sherlock’s regular abrupt and strange ideas, even if the content was new. 

The dark, illusory figure moved to stand on the floor, bent over, then stood up again. By the rustle of fabric, John surmised that Sherlock had finally taken his trousers off. That was confirmed when Sherlock climbed on the bed to stand with feet on both sides of John’s hips, his tall body towering above John, making him wish he could enjoy the view in proper lighting. The streak of ambient moonlight highlighting the curves of Sherlock’s back gave him the look of a pure shadow, a fleeting phantom that could dissolve into air at any moment. 

To the touch, however, he felt wonderfully tangible when John touched his ankles, then slid his hands up, feeling goosebumps and hair rising on the gracefully muscled calves. A shiver ran through John, coupled with a flutter of excitement at touching Sherlock’s skin.

“Sherlock -” the single word a plea on John’s lips as he waited. “I’m ready… for anything.” He felt the need to assure his partner - his lover. The answer was a bang on the wall above John's head that startled him again, sending his heart racing. He used to handle sudden noise a lot better before the war. Now the mix of mystery and tension between him and Sherlock reminded him of how he felt on a case, constantly trying to catch up with his friend’s brilliant mind. 

The bang had been Sherlock’s hand as he used the wall to balance himself; half-squatting closer to John’s face. A sudden, but light, smack on John’s cheek brought a wicked smile to his face as he realised it hadn’t been a hand delivering it. A similar smack on John’s other cheek made him lick his bottom lip in anticipation for what was coming next. 

A languid move of the tip of Sherlock’s cock across John’s lips prompted him to open wide, his mouth watering with the need to taste. Only the head slid onto John’s tongue and he licked the salty precome greedily, before sucking gently on the glans. Sherlock groaned, the sound stirring a new wave of desire in John. 

John had expected some apprehension to mow down his elation, but he was neither ashamed nor confused when faced with Sherlock’s cock in his mouth. It felt good, confirming the accuracy of his past musings about what having sex with Sherlock would be like. No other man in his life had made him feel the need that strongly, even if he’d felt physical attraction towards them. This was Sherlock, and God, did John want to pleasure him within an inch of his life.

“Let me taste you, Sherlock. Show me how. Guide me,” John whispered, wanting to please his friend-turned-lover even more than he’d craved the release himself moments before. Within a second, he found himself wrapping his lips around Sherlock’s cock as it slid a bit further. John breathed through his nose, accepting what he was given, his hands caressing Sherlock's thighs - the muscles taut with the strain of keeping him in position. Wanting to send a clear signal that he was not about to back out, John reached around to Sherlock’s buttocks and pulled him closer. 

Only what he judged was a half of Sherlock’s cock was in his mouth before he gagged involuntarily, his eyes watering; confidence deflating.  _ Way to go, Watson. _

Sherlock pulled away instantly, letting John breathe in and out after a round of coughing.

“I’m good. I thought -” John shook his head. “Never mind, I want to try again.”

Thankfully, not put off by the amateur move, Sherlock moved shallowly inside John’s mouth. He let go of his cock to slide his fingers into John’s hair, the soothing motion akin to praise which John lapped up like a good student. Sherlock’s cock was even harder than before and John knew from his own experience that it meant Sherlock was close. At the thought of him finishing in John’s mouth or on his face, John felt his own cock stirring back to life again. He let out a moan, squeezing Sherlock’s buttocks but not pulling him closer this time.

The familiar click of the lube bottle opening was followed by Sherlock taking John’s left hand. A frown formed on John’s forehead in confusion.

“Oh…” John mumbled around Sherlock’s cock as he caught up on what was about to happen, just a moment before he felt the slick gel coat his hand and fingers. 

With a slow release of breath, Sherlock guided John’s index finger inside himself, the sensation of the tight grip itself causing more of John’s blood to travel to his groin. The low groan of pleasure that came out of Sherlock’s chest was the most erotic thing John had ever heard, and he closed his eyes for a moment to let the sound wash over him. 

Determined to succeed in this part, John relied on his medical experience, sliding his finger slowly, moving it around to spread the lubricant, avoiding unnecessary friction. An audible hitch in Sherlock’s breath suggested that John had found what he was looking for, crooking his finger just enough to deliver an expert prostate massage. Moaning into Sherlock’s cock, which had stilled in John’s mouth, he added another finger, this time feeling the cock twitch. John smiled triumphantly. He could feel the stretch of the tight ring of muscle and he pumped his fingers inside, twisting them around, as he himself was starting to squirm.

Sherlock thrust into John’s mouth a bit further, then retreating, impaled himself enough for the entire length of John’s fingers to disappear. The lewd groan that left Sherlock made something deep inside John’s abdomen flutter as he shut his eyes to focus on the heavenly sound. 

The rain outside intensified and John was barely able to hear Sherlock’s slow exhale between the crackle of thunder, when Sherlock slid his cock out of John’s mouth and guided John’s fingers out of his body. He then knelt to straddle John’s thighs, and John used the angle to lick Sherlock’s nipple. It was a shot in the dark, but he managed to capture it and suck, wringing a long, lewd moan from the man atop him. He slid his hands over Sherlock’s back, holding him, as he arched in pleasure before pulling away.

All that rousing play was enough for John to be ready again.

His cock was definitely ready, but John’s head spun and he sucked in air sharply when Sherlock took John’s cock and guided it into his body. John’s head fell back to touch the headboard at the deliciously tight squeeze. He took several deep breaths to delay his impending orgasm, before he was able to speak. 

“You feel… you feel so good. Sherlock…” He croaked in a voice full of awe, lust and affection.

John knew there was no going back for him once he’d had a chance to connect with Sherlock on a carnal level. He would be lost for anyone else. Then again, he’d been lost for Sherlock for a while now, the events of this night just confirming how true that was.

Sherlock sunk down slowly, making small up and down motions that matched his laboured breathing. John’s hands rested on Sherlock’s hips, guiding gently, letting Sherlock adjust the pace. 

Once Sherlock took John’s cock in fully, he was seated on John’s hips, the weight more than welcome. Wiggling in a tiny round motion, he wrenched a loud moan out of John. 

John’s hands roamed on soft skin, from Sherlock’s lean hips to his delicately muscled chest, then down to his abdomen and beyond.

Sherlock’s soft gasp broke the rhythm of their synchronised breathing when John’s left hand gently squeezed Sherlock’s erection. It was long and felt almost as good in John’s hand as it had in his mouth. The position allowed John to pleasure Sherlock at a similar angle as he would himself, so he pumped his hand lightly, squeezing a bit harder at the top, adding a slight twist to his wrist. 

Sherlock’s approval manifested itself as he leaned over to place his face in the crook of John’s neck. Between heavy pants, Sherlock nipped and kissed John’s neck, as if thanking him for the pleasure, when in truth it was John’s pleasure and privilege to have his hands on the brilliant man.

John could give him so much more; would let him take so much more, if Sherlock only asked.

John hoped there would come a time Sherlock would ask. 

The rolling motion of Sherlock’s bum on John’s lap turned into more erratic movements as he lifted himself up, then sat back down, faster and faster until he just stopped, hovering a few inches above John. His hands firmly planted on the wall behind John until now, moved to John’s chest, caressing, pleading.

Receiving the message, John thrust upward, making Sherlock mewl into his neck, delivering more wet, sloppy kisses there. Snapping his hips, John established a rhythm that was bringing him closer and closer to the edge again. Moving his hand faster on Sherlock’s cock, he groaned louder and louder.

“Sherlock… I’m almost there… again. With me -” he panted. “Can you come with me? For me?”

The nod made Sherlock’s curls tickle John’s cheek and he inhaled the scent of expensive shampoo, moving in deep. 

“Sherlock - oh God… ah ah ah I - come with me!” John yelled the last word, thrusting mercilessly. Sherlock’s cock twitched in his hand, mirroring his own inside Sherlock, sending hot ribbons of come onto John’s abdomen. 

John’s shout of ecstasy sounded when Sherlock sunk his blunt teeth into his shoulder as if grounding himself, while also marking John with the bite. The pain mixed with pleasure sent John’s head reeling as both their bodies continued to stay locked during the last seconds of their orgasm. 

“Perfect…” John whispered, his cock still twitching inside Sherlock, who murmured in agreement before lifting up to let John’s cock slip out of his body. 

Somehow still capable of graceful movements, Sherlock lay next to John, turning to his side so that his pert bum touched John’s thigh. Apparently, he was done.

A small, happy chuckle left John, as he reached to the floor to grab what must have been his shirt, but was just a blob of fabric in the dark. He wiped off Sherlock's come of his chest, then tossed it back to the floor. 

With a satiated smile, he snuggled into Sherlock’s back before he reached to cover them both with the duvet they had kicked to the end of the bed. 

He’d never even dreamed of going that far with his best friend, and it seemed that Sherlock was ready for even more. Dear God, so was John. So much more. Next time, he would kiss Sherlock first, or maybe he would get a chance to do it in the morning, when they woke up next to each other. There would be no regrets on John’s part, and hopefully none on Sherlock’s. John would then taste Sherlock’s enticing lips and trace his tongue over the gorgeous cupid’s bow. With his nose in Sherlock’s curls, and his hand over Sherlock’s chest, which was rising and falling with his breathing, John drifted off to sleep thinking of kissing Sherlock come morning. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want this fic to stay in a happy smut zone DO NOT READ what's ahead. If you're not sure if you want to read the last chapter, don't.  
> I appreciate your support and your reading this far!  
> Proceed at your own risk. No refunds. No exchanges.

John was awoken in the dead of night by the sound of his phone buzzing somewhere on the floor. He fished for his trousers, discarded in a heap by the bed, groping for the pockets. The mess was a reminder of the amazing evening that brought a smile to his face and heat to his cheeks.  _ God, Sherlock had been brilliant. _

Still on his side, John unlocked his phone and had to blink several times as his eyes watered at the bright glow. 

>There has been a development. My brother is unable to return. MH<

John snorted at the message, sly amusement painting his face. Mycroft was losing his touch if he hadn’t noticed that his brother had already returned. Sherlock had promised he’d be back for the party, and even if he’d missed it, John had been compensated tenfold. More heat bloomed, this time in John’s abdomen, and he released a small sigh at the memory.

He was under no illusion about the potential repercussions to their friendship once they were properly awake, but he was determined to acknowledge what had happened. They would have to  _ talk _ about it, and even if they were the absolute worst at talking, John would make sure they were on the same page. Somehow. If they could both be stubborn in most aspects of life, they could be stubborn enough to figure out how to move forward after what had happened between them. Then maybe, just maybe, they could even cultivate it over time to make it blossom into a relationship.

John would not toss away an opportunity to be more than Sherlock’s friend and flatmate. Being the only constant in John’s life, Sherlock was his rock, even if his version of a rock meant that he was rolling up and down hills and dragging a willing John along. John would love to give them a chance as a couple, even if it meant dropping the emotional stiff upper lips they had been projecting at each other since they’d met. 

For now, he would try to let Sherlock sleep through the remainder of the night. He'd clearly had a rough time on the case; demanding an unprecedented level of closeness upon his return; not to mention the sleep that had claimed him within seconds of his head hitting the pillow. John had stayed awake for a while, too hyped after the events of the evening to sleep. Only after he’d wrapped his body around the long-limbed, gorgeous man in his bed had he fallen asleep contentedly.

John rolled over to enclose Sherlock in a sleep-ready embrace when he felt the other side of the bed empty. Completely discombobulated, he threw the duvet off, turned the light on, and sat in silence for a moment, his eyes scanning the room as if Sherlock were about to spring out from behind the drapes. He didn’t.

Did the sex mean so little to Sherlock that he hadn’t even wanted to spend the night in one bed? John stood up, and, phone still in hand, padded downstairs to check on Sherlock in his bedroom. To his utter confusion, he found it empty. The sofa in the sitting room was unoccupied as well. He grabbed Sherlock's discarded dressing gown from the sofa and wrapped it around himself, comforted by the safety of Sherlock's lingering scent. Inhaling the musk, he closed his eyes, trying to remain calm.

“What is the ruckus about John?” yelled Mrs Hudson from her flat downstairs. 

“Just looking for Sherlock,” John replied, coming down the stairs as he was tying the sash of the long, yet tight in the shoulders, dressing gown.

“Did he come back?” she asked, confused.

“Yes, with me, last night.”

“You came home alone... Are you sure you’re alright?” Her voice turned to worry. “Would you like some tea?”

“At 3 am?!” John’s voice went up an octave as it gave way to the annoyance and dread that started to creep into him, his hand tightening on the railing. “No, no, thank you, Mrs Hudson,” he said much more calmly, shaking his head, regretting his outburst. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

She nodded, her brow still furrowed. 

“Let me know if you need that tea. Maybe I even have some scones leftover from last night. And… put something on John, it’s cold here and it’s just not decent.” She motioned at the dressing gown coming loose. 

_ Who cares about decent _ , he wanted to yell,  _ Sherlock is missing!  _ Instead, he gave her a curt nod and tightened the sash of the dressing gown.

With concern still on her face, she turned around and walked towards her flat with a hand on her bad hip.

Cold sweat born of dread and confusion broke on John’s back as he recalled the entirety of the previous night, the unusual way Sherlock had behaved, the silence, the darkness... It felt like it had been a dream, albeit a very vivid one. Now, with his head emptied of lust, John surmised that the encounter must have been a lot more bizarre than he had judged it last night. Strange, mysterious and insanely sexy had been Sherlock’s traits from the moment John had laid eyes on him, but the added sexual intensity and the ominous silence had painted the mood darker than the room itself had been. 

The wind howled outside, making the old building creak as if it was yelling for mercy. John wanted to yell alongside it, asking for answers. He opened the door to the outside and looked at the drunk pedestrians coming back home, some of them still dressed in ridiculous Halloween costumes. 

John stepped onto the pavement, wrapping his arms around his midriff as a shiver shook his body. The cold air did nothing to soothe his reeling mind.

If it had been just a test, a game to see how far John was willing to go, would they pretend it had never happened? John felt a mix of regret and relief. Regret at not being able to continue what they’d started, veering into the spiral of carnal pleasures under the roof of 221B. Relief that their life would remain the same and they wouldn't have to talk about it, nor acknowledge what had happened. Was this Sherlock’s way of giving John a choice? Handing him an out after he had rocked his world in bed?

Or had Sherlock played him? Had all of this been some sick game? Had John dreamed it all? No, it felt too real, and he was still sore in places that he wouldn't have been if it had all been in his head. What if it wasn’t Sherlock at all? No, that was not possible. Sure, he’d acted a bit weird, apart from the fact that he was willing, and very very eager to have sex with John. But it had to have been him...right?

John knew damn well what would Sherlock say to him now:  _ When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.  _

What remained, however, was nothing John was willing to think about.

He stood motionless, barefoot on the steps outside, and was still unsure if he were truly awake. His palm stung and he realised that he’d been balling his left hand into a fist so hard, his short nails dug into his skin. He shook his hand out and unlocked his phone with the other.

>Is he okay?< He texted Mycroft, just to indulge the game the pompous arse was playing. Except Mycroft didn’t play games. Not like that. 

He also didn’t text.

>I’ll explain in the morning. MH<

The reply came within seconds, and John swallowed audibly at its contents. He’d made Sherlock promise to let him know if he was in too much trouble to handle something by himself. Very reluctantly, he’d agreed, and it seemed that Mycroft’s message was the extension of what it had taken to keep the promise. 

“Morning my arse,” John muttered, choosing the number from speed dial and putting the phone to his ear, his hand steady but his heart racing.

“It is not a convenient time -” a familiar voice uttered smoothly on the other end of the line.

“I don’t care, Mycroft!” John exclaimed into the phone. “I need to know what the  _ fuck _ is your cryptic messaging about?”

“I have made a promise to my brother to inform you of his situation when it would prove to be obscure or at worst, fatal,” Mycroft said, confirming John’s initial assumption.

“Is he okay or not!?” John asked through clenched teeth, his voice breaking at the last word.

“We have lost him from our radar, and the situation does not look favourable. I can keep you update-”

John disconnected the call before Mycroft finished talking, the phone sliding from his hand and onto the well-trodden pavement in front of 221B, next to his bare feet.

He felt sick.

Dizzy.

He took several deep breaths of the cold air through his nose, releasing it in a long shudder of dread as if his very soul was leaving him.

His legs gave out and he sat on the cold, stone steps to the flat, his vision blurring the view of the muddy street.

“Sherlock?” John’s voice hitched as he whispered into the void of London. The sound was quickly drowned by the hum of the city Sherlock loved so much. Only the wind answered in a long cry of despair as if mocking him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, kudos and comments!  
> This story is finished. Or so I thought. My brain disagrees, and now I have an idea for a part 2 of similar length or longer. For now though, this is it. Let me know what you think of it in the comments!  
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